A Clash of Queens
by The Mad Writer of Brooklyn
Summary: In which Stannis spills the beans of what he knows to Renly, Margaery Tyrell arrives in King's Landing around the same time the Starks do, Renly and Loras put her on the path to seducing Robert, and lots of things change for the Lannisters, which means Dany might attack sooner than anticipated. (Inspired, in part, by The Tudors). Reviews are Loved
1. Renly I

Renly I

Everything was going as he planned, for once.

Atop his favorite horse, riding along the Kingsroad, he smiled to himself as he read the raven's letter, satisfaction spreading warmly through his body. Mace Tyrell had finally decided to send his daughter for her formal coming out in court escorted by her older brother Garlan and Loras.

At fifteen, the Maid of Highgarden already had an astounding reputation as an incredible beauty. And with the added benefit of his brother formally betrothing his "son" to the Stark girl, she was at little risk of making a royal match too soon at court, though he doubted it would matter to his brother. Still, unattached, Maid Margaery made a fabulous prospect as someone for the King to lust for guiltlessly.

Renly sighed, for once excited to return to court. It would not be as torturous he imagined, not when he was the center of a great and scandalous ploy. Beside him, his older brother grimaced.

"Why do you look so happy?" Stannis asked, jaw clenched.

"Why, brother, what cause is there _not_ to smile. I've just had word that Loras and Garlan are awaiting us in King's Landing, eager to present their sister to the King."

Stannis grimaced again. How difficult it had been to convince his brother of this duplicity. So concerned with honor, Stannis had wanted to go the direct route of simply telling the king their brother of Cersei's deceits. As if he'd survive such an accusation against a Lannister, especially when there was nothing to entice the king enough to want a reason to set aside his queen. It would look as if Stannis wanted to disinherit the queen's children in order to put himself farther up in the line of succession.

No, Renly thought, the king was want to rid himself of the Queen, really _want_ it, if they were to prevent Joffrey from remaining heir and the queen from continuing to cuckold their brother.

And what better thing than a lust for an unattainable maiden to stir Robert into action.

"I like this game not," Stannis stated seriously, "I have suffered too many slights for this, and for what, the longer we wait, the less our evidence will matter."

"Are you so quick to reach your grave, brother? Our _evidence_ , a word a bit too strong in my eyes, is a stupidly dense books of descriptions of lords, and a few baseborn brats whom we cannot actually prove are Robert's curs. Tell me, how will that evidence fair again the power of Casterly Rock?"

Stannis pursed his lips into a thin line but said naught. They'd had this argument more times than Renly cared to remember, and each time Renly had won. "Forget your slights, real and imagined. Imagine how grateful Robert will be when we deliver him from the lions into the arms of a rose."

It seemed like years before his brother finally decided to hold court. Renly was like a boy eager to take up his first sword. All he wanted was to put Margaery in Robert's path, to start his ploy. He had a terrible suspicion that his brother was not long for this world, there was only so much Cersei would handle, with his brother's tempers and behaviors worsening every day. And the death of Jon Arryn told Renly that the Queen was not afraid of murdering the realm's second most powerful man if it meant protecting her brood.

When the day finally came, Renly felt both nervous and relieved. Everything in his plan rested on Margaery catching Robert's eye before Cersei caught wind. She was standing at his side now. Everything about her had been meticulously planned. Her soft chestnut curls were tied in an elaborate curl about her head, giving the illusion that it was incredibly thick. She was dressed in the colors of her house, a low cut gown of green and gold. The green bodice revealed enough to draw the eye but not so much that she could be seen as a harlot. Her skirt was cloth of gold ingeniously embroidered with roses of green and black, marrying the colors of Baratheon and Tyrell clearly enough to draw the eye but subtly enough that no one could question it. Just then she looked up at him with her large doe eyes, "Do you like my dress, my lord?" she asked meekly, batting her lashes.

He smiled at her, he knew the girl well enough to know that she was not such an innocent maid, but she pulled off the act so believably for a second he bought it himself, "Very much, my lady, and I'm sure the king will like it as well."

Her voice was dreamy and breathy in reply, "That is all I could want, my lord," she said, with not a hint of insincerity. Renly's confidence increased suddenly.

He turned an ear to the proceedings of the court, some dull argument about a debt the crown owed to the Iron Bank. He could see Robert dosing on his throne. _Perfect_ , Renly thought, _if he calls an end before I've had my chance…_

The envoy finished his business, and the Herald called, "IS THERE ANY MEMBER OF THE COURT WITH AN ORDER OF BUSINESS TO BE BROUGHT BEFORE THE KING AND HIS COUNCIL?"

Finally, it was his chance. With a quick and light step, Renly stepped before the throne and council table, bowing amiable, "I have an important order of business."

"LORD RENLY OF HOUSE BARATHEON, LORD OF STORM'S END, MASTER OF LAWS WISHES TO ADDRESS THE KING AND COUNCIL!" the Herald called.

Robert stirred at that, "Lord Renly, you didn't attend council this morning."

Renly smiled up at his older brother, "My apologies, your grace. I'm sure the skills of your other councilors caused there to be little reason to miss me," he smiled at the small council, all of whom regarded him suspiciously, "However, the business that kept me away from you this morning is what brings me before you today."

The king sat up straighter, his interest piqued, "Is that so? And what business could that be?"

"Well, as you may know, your grace. Mace Tyrell has sent his daughter, the Lady Margaery, to be presented at court to your royal person, in hopes of finding a good match for the maid. Unfortunately, despite all assurances that she could be received most graciously by your grace, the girl had such a fright of being a disappointment that neither of her brothers could coax her out of her room this morning. Thus, they begged my help to convince the girl of your kindness."

The king leaned forward just a bit, "And is she here now?"

"She is, your grace, and as it please you, she would like to have the honor of making your acquaintance."

Robert smiled genially, "Well then, send her out, I promise I don't bite."

At that, with a hush creeping over the entire court, Margaery Tyrell emerged from the crowd, flanked by her two brothers on either side. It seemed, even the gods were on their side, as the light hit her in such a way that it turned her light brown eyes almost gold, and brought out a shine in her hair. When they reached Renly's side, the three Tyrell siblings dropped to their knees with heads bowed gracefully.

"You may rise," the king said gently, "You are most welcome in my court, my lady."

"Th-thank you, your gr-grace," Margaery replied in a small voice, head still bowed.

Robert squinted, "Only, might you take a few steps closer, these eyes of might don't serve me as they used to, and I'd like to take a good look at you."

Margaery, ever the timid maid, threw a worried glance at her brother Garlan, who nodded gently. With that, she took a few steps closer to the king. Everyone in court seemed to lean forward to take a good look at her, everyone but Ned Stark, whose gaze was fixed intently on the king. He then looked at Renly, who smiled and gave him a small nod. Stark's brow furrowed, but Renly sensed that, when the time came, Stark would be on his side. His love for Robert and desperation for honor would not abide the queen's treachery. Renly's only hope was that he would not find out the truth too soon, lest he ruin his plans.

The King noticed nothing of this, of course, for he was too busy drinking in the sight of Margaery. There was a serious, thoughtful look on his face and everyone in the hall seemed to hold their breath. After a moment, his great face broke into a smile, and he laughed that great wheezing laugh of his, "Well I do declare, we won't have trouble at all finding a husband for this one!"

Renly smiled, _we won't indeed, brother_. He looked to his other brother at the small council table, and for once, Stannis had the barest hint of a smile on his lips.


	2. Margaery I

Margaery I

Whatever misgivings Margaery had had before meeting the king, she could hardly remember them by the time of the Hand's Tourney. She was neither blind nor stupid, and Cersei Lannister was just as beautiful as everyone said she was. And with no proof of her supposed incest, Robert had no cause to set her aside.

But that was before she'd felt the king's eyes hungrily appraise her at court. Half the work she thought she'd have to do had been done right then. She had no question that the king already wanted to bed her, her only task now was to make him believe the only way that could happen would be if he wed her.

With the work of Renly's spies, she'd managed to "accidentally" find herself walking the same halls as the king. The Red Keep was an incredibly large castle after all, with all manner of halls that looked so similar, but led to much different places. It was so easy to get lost, and how could gallant King Robert allow sweet Maid Margaery wander about the castle trying to find her way? He must take her back to her chambers, to the dining hall, to her brother's solar.

Oh, it was a capricious game to play, to be sure, and yet Margaery could not deny she was enjoying it. For the king, she felt less than nothing. He had naught clever to say, his war stories lacking substance, his jokes were based upon low founded humor, and the ravages of time and indulging too much in food and wine had robbed him of his famous good looks. And yet, the prospect of tearing down the greatest family in Westeros and raising the Tyrells to their place excited her more than anything else in the world.

So she played the dumb, shy maid. Laughing at the king's jokes behind her hand, blushing whenever he deigned to call her lovely, asking him for war stories, and bashfully admiring his looks and dress in turn, and he complimented her with growing confidence and bawdiness. Most recently, he'd complimented how the shape of her dress brought out shapeliness of her hips and bosom.

For the Hand's Tourney, she came out in her most daring gown yet. Her deep green myrish lace bodice was cut lower than most would think decent, the tops of her breasts were covered to the neck, ending at an onyx choker, with cloth of gold shorn so thin it was translucent, and you could her skin beneath. Her skirt was a pale green that glittered when the sun hit it, and was also worn a bit low, so her midriff was bare but for the same sheer cloth of gold. She heard people whispering as she passed, but paid them no heed. On her way to the dais, she was glad that a little luck put her in the path of the King and his brother, the older one, having a pert discussion. She would have to pass them to get to her seat, so she walked slowly, curtsying low when she arrived by the king, "Your grace," she said meekly, "Lord Stannis."

The king seemed to forget his brother, "Lady Margaery, as ravishing as ever, of course. It seems you bother yourself with these follies to only put other ladies to shame at their plainness."

"You are too kind, your grace."

"Doesn't she looking ravishing, Stannis?" the king asked his brother.

Stannis regarded her with barely disguised disdain. Margaery had once asked Renly if his brother preferred the company of men, since he seemed to despise women. Renly had said that Stannis preferred no one's company, save for his queer friendship with the Onion Knight, but still, he doubted Stannis desired anything but solitude. "She does, your grace."

"Well, it's best we be off to the dais, it wouldn't do to keep these glory hungry fools waiting," Robert laughed his wheezing laugh, and Margaery joined in softly, "Won't you join, brother?"

"I fear there are matters I must attend to," Stannis replied, with a curt bow, and stalked off.

"Odd fish that one is," the King said thoughtfully, he turned to her with a big smile, offering his arm, "Might I escort you to your seat, Maid Margaery?"

Margaery took his arm with mild trepidation, for she could feel the Queen's eyes on them for her high place, an empty throne beside her, but Margaery dared not refuse, "Nothing would gladden me heartily indeed, your grace."

They walked slowly to the dais, where Robert only gave up her arm after a great reluctant show, Margaery spied Queen Cersei watching them like a hawk out of the side of her eye. Robert kissed her hand and removed himself to the throne beside his queen, while Margaery took her seat beside Sansa Stark. She made a point of being especially kind to the girl, who, if Renly's plan were to work, would be in for a world of heartache soon. Even with the ugliness regarding her pet wolf on the Kingsroad, it seemed the child was still enamored with her dear Prince Joffrey. "…And the queen says that when I have flowered, the prince and I are to be wed in the Sept of Baelor," she sighed dreamily, "It'll be the greatest wedding in the history of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Of that I'm certain," Margaery replied, smiling. She hoped that Sansa would not bleed too soon. She thought it unlikely, if she did bleed soon, that they would marry them before Sansa was at least thirteen. Still, if Cersei felt endangered in any way, she might push for the marriage to occur as soon as if happened, to bind the Starks and Tullys to her and her son. "I don't think any Targaryen ever took a Stark to wed, or a Tully for that matter, if that is true, you shall be the first Stark and Tully Queen." _But not if I'm the first Tyrell Queen_.

"Ah, I had not even considered that," Sansa breathed, "That's such a grand thing, is it not?"

"Grand indeed," said Margaery, "What do you think you'll name your children?"

"Well, my first son shall surely be another Joffrey, like this father. If I have girls I'd like to name them either Naerys, or Jonquil, since they were the Queens of Love and Beauty from my favorite songs. If I have other sons, I might name them Aemon, like the Dragonknight, or perhaps Arthur, like the sword of the morning."

"Such lovely names," Margaery purred, "I'm sure you'll have fine children."

"And you, my lady? Have you thought of names for your children?"

Margaery smiled all foxlike, with the King and Queen in perfect hearing proximity, "Oh, I've recently taken quite the fancy to the name Robert, for our most gallant king, and perhaps Cersei for a girl, for our graceful queen."

"Wise choices," Sansa replied, "Have you met anyone at court who has particularly caught your eye, my lady?" with a girlish grin.

 _This really is too easy_ , Margaery thought. Aloud she said, "As to that, I know I might have trouble convincing my father of approving of such a match, but of late, I have grown rather fond of Beric Dondarrion. I am not fond of those overly handsome types who think too much of themselves, I much prefer a true man's man, and Lord Beric seems quite the type," she turned to Sansa with wide eyes, catching the king shift angrily in his seat, "don't you think, Lady Sansa?"

"I agree he is of that type, but I don't think the only daughter of Highgarden could be permitted to make a match so beneath her."

Margaery let out a long, forlorn sigh, "I fear you may be right. Unfortunately, all the men of the type I like here at court whose rank befits mine own are sadly taken in matrimony."

"I'm sorry to here that, my lady," Sansa replied with sincere sorrow in her voice.

Margaery patted her arm, "You needn't be sorry, my dear, just speaking with you on this matter has helped me immensely." _More than you know, child_.

It was not two days later that the King found an inexplicably difficult task for Lord Beric to undertake, that would likely keep him away from court for a long time. "I have in my mind to wed one of my younger children to a manner of Eastern nobility, you see," the king had said, "To better ally myself with the east if the dragonspawn gains power there. I might prevent it from getting too strong. And who better than one of mine own lords of the Stormlands."

Lord Beric, along with a number of the handsome unmarried gentlemen at court, were thus sent on this indefinite journey. Margaery wanted desperately to laugh as she watched the spectacle at court, but she dared not. Hers was an expression of neutrality, for she mustn't seem too aggrieved at the loss of Lord Beric lest the king lose interest. She did hope nothing awful happened to the men in Essos, she worried perhaps the Targaryen Princess kill them if their purpose becomes known. Yet, it was so necessary a move. Getting rid of many of the court's eligible bachelors would make it seem less queer that it took her longer to find a husband, all the while she could grow closer to the king.

Her brother came to stand next to her.

"I must say sister," he whispered, "I've begun to suspect you have some manner of sorcery. You speak of interest in one man, and he and seven of his like disappear."

Margaery laughed, "A lustful man is all a desirable woman needs to make magic, I assure you brother. I suspect, if I so willed it, I could make the king turn himself into a dragon," she looked up at him, "Now wouldn't that be a mighty thing. But I don't need a dragon to win this war of mine."

"It seems not," Loras agreed, he bent close to her ear, speaking more softly to ensure only she heard, "But now that you have worked you bit of magic, strike as fast as you dare. A cornered lioness is like to strike fast to save her life if you don't strike first."

Margaery inclined her head ever so slightly to indicate she understood. It wouldn't take much, she knew, not with this farce with Essos. _No_ , she thought, _the king is all but mine now_.


	3. Daenerys I

Daenerys I

"Whispers from the Seven Kingdoms tell me that there is a ploy to uproot the Lannister Queen," Ser Jorah Mormont told her.

"Is there?" the name Lannister caused a chill to run up her spine. When he was alive, Viserys had never tired of telling the story of Tywin Lannister's betrayal. Tywin had been the Hand of the King, before he'd made his son and heir, Jaime, a kingsguard. With one order, her father had made the heir to Casterly Rock not a strong and handsome gallant knight but a small, ugly, deformed dwarf whom Lannister had never forgiven for killing his wife. _Just like you killed our mother, but at least you're not hideous_ , Viserys would always remind her. During Robert's Rebellion, Tywin had come to the gates, under the pretense that he was there to lend aid to the city. Instead, he'd sacked King's Landing and made his son, a kingsguard, plunge his sword deep into her father's back. To add insult to injury, he'd then married his daughter to the usurper.

Dany had always hated that story. She pitied the poor dwarf, she'd killed her mother, but at least she'd been born whole and normal. Still, the thought of Tywin Lannister's treasonous family going to dust lifted her spirit.

"Yes, there are whispers that the Tyrells intend to make a daughter of theirs his queen, and set Cersei aside. Theirs doesn't seem to be a loving union."

"And what cause would Robert have to put her aside?" Dany asked wearily, "By all accounts she's one of the most beautiful women in Westeros, and she's given him three healthy children, two of whom are boys. Even if theirs isn't a loving union."

"Children people have begun to whisper are really the Kingslayer's."

"How do you know this?" What a strange tale was being fed to her.

"There's been talk all around Westeros," Jorah said, "A story of a visit to the North by the king, queen, and a large retinue including the Kingslayer. Apparently, while there, the king took a large party on a hunt, with most of his guard save Jaime. One of the Stark boys, a seven-year-old, renowned climber, fell from a tower that all at Winterfell swear the same boy has climbed half a hundred times without so much as a stumble. The boy survived the fall, and while he lay in a coma, a hired knife stole into his room and tried to murder him, from which he was saved by a pet direwolf. The knife belonged to a Lannister, it is said, and the whereabouts of the Queen and the Kingslayer cannot be accounted for at the time of the boy's fall. One might begin to wonder what he saw."

"Did the boy die?" Dany asked, stunned.

"He's alive, and awake, but with no memory."

"Then this story is nothing but that. The Usurper would not risk the wrath of Casterly Rock because of a story."

"Ah but there's more my princess," Ser Jorah smiled, "Jon Arryn, the hand before Ned Stark, was said to be looking into a particular book before his sudden death."

"A book?" Dany echoed.

" _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children_ ," Jorah recited, "Dull reading material, to be sure. But apparently, this books shows that in all the other five times Lion and Stag have mated, their offspring have had hair black as a raven's wing, whereas, oddly enough, are as golden as the sun. All of Robert's bastards, regardless of how their mother looked on the other hand, take after his own look. Funnily enough, Jon Arryn's last words were 'Robert, the seed is strong.'"

Dany was reeling, so farfetched and yet, delivered in the right way, it might make for a convincing enough argument, "And what does the usurper make of this?"

"It doesn't seem like he knows and yet…"

"And yet?"

"This plan is quite ingenious, I must say. Should the king become enamored with the so-called Maid of Highgarden, and find himself in need of ridding himself of Cersei well, all his councilors would need to do is whisper this story in his ear and I daresay he'd believe them wholeheartedly. And what would there be to do but put the Kingslayer and Cersei to the sword for treason, and put these false Baratheon children to the sword so as to protect his rightful heirs."

"Robert would kill children…children he thought to be his own for all these years…"

"He had no trouble putting Rhaegar's children to the sword, babes younger than Cersei's abominations. And what are they to him, but a reminder of his being cuckolded by his own queen and her brother, of all things."

Dany had never met Robert Baratheon, but she suspected these things to be true. "If this unfolds the way you think it will, Lord Tywin will undeniably make war with the crown, you yourself said his pride is matched by no man's."

"Yes, but Lord Tywin will be easily crushed when the powers of the Reach, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, and the North rise to suppress his rebellion."

Dany frowned, "A brief successful civil war will not help my cause."

Jorah Mormont smiled devilishly, "No, my princess, it won't, but the rightful heir of Casterly Rock just might tilt odds in your favor."

"And how do you know he'd be delivered to my cause."

The smile waned, "Alas, I do have something confess, and you might not look upon me kindly afterwards.

For hours afterward, Dany's head was still buzzing with all the insanity of what Jorah said. She was disappointed in him about his acting as a spy, and she'd sent him out of her sight in a fit of rage, but by evenfall she'd all but forgiven him. With all that was happening, spying that had done her no actual harm. His willing confession had put his life into her hands, which meant he was willing to die for her to receive this news from the spider. She could not deign to hold against him an intense desire for a pardon and for home. After all, she'd been letting Khal Drogo, who was her sun-and-stars, to plunder and steal and kill all to sate that very same desire.

Of course, Varys the Spider knew all these things would happen, and would deliver the Imp. Dany marveled at such a mad plan. She wondered how he would do it. Obviously, the Imp would have little love for the usurper after he kills his entire family. Perhaps the usurper would even deign to kill the dwarf, thinking he must have known of his family's treachery.

And if he is half as clever as everyone says he is, he must know.

Dany misliked the idea of making a Lannister her greatest ally, but, if truth be told, the dwarf had only been a boy of ten when her family fell, and there was a good chance that he didn't even know she was alive.

What would likely happen after the Lannisters fall is that Robert would install someone he trusted as lord of the Rock and Warden of the West. Should Dany land in Westeros with their rightful heir, the power of the West would likely rally to their true lord, in order to avenge those who'd been killed. With the power of the West behind her, and a hundred thousand strong in Khal Drogo's _khalasar_ , as well as the Dornish who hate King Robert, and other minor houses who might declare for her, Dany's chances at a successful landing had suddenly increased exponentially.

Khal Drogo looked at her strangely from where he was sitting, "Why, moon-of-my-life, you seem so quiet tonight? Are you troubled?"

"No, my sun-and-stars, only I've had news from the sunset kingdoms."

"Bad news?" he asked, though no worry showed itself on his face.

"For my enemies." She smiled

Drogo returned her smile with the barest of grins, "This is a good thing, tell me more."

Slowly, alternating between bouts of broken Dothraki and the little Common Tongue he knew, she told him of the letter from the Spider – leaving out Jorah's initial reason for joining her cause – and of their plan to gain the west to her cause as well when the Lannisters fell.

"This Lion man, is he a great fighter?" Drogo asked thoughtfully.

Dany turned to Irri, "Irri, what is the Dothraki word for dwarf?"

"There is no such word, Khaleesi, deformed children of the like are left at the hind of a _khalasar_ to feed the hounds."

Dany blanched, turning to her husband, "He is a small man, not a great fighter, but a great…" there was no Dothraki word for thinker either, "He is very smart, and knowing in the ways of the sunset kingdoms."

"If he is no warrior, how will he lead an army?"

"In Westeros, men don't follow the greatest warrior, but their lawful lords and their sons," Dany explained.

Drogo's expression seemed to say he didn't believe her, but he nodded nonetheless, angrily scratching the cut where Mirri Maz Duur had put her salve. Dany regarded him nervously as he called for a herbwoman to replace it with something that didn't itch like mad. Dany knew better than to press the issue, for he'd wanted to take it off for four days then, and his patience, it seemed, had worn thing. Her only hope was that it had done enough of its healing magic to make sure he mended properly – she'd never forgive herself if something bad happened to him.

 _Not when I finally love you,_ she thought _, not when I am bearing your son, when I am free from my brother, and when I finally have a chance of going home._

Three days later, Khal Drogo fell off his horse, and deep in the pit of her stomach, Daenerys Stormborn knew he'd never ride again.


	4. Tyrion I

Tyrion I

Tyrion Lannister could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"…and the three whelps are the Kingslayer's, for sure. None o' them have the look of the Stag, all gold as Tywin Lannister's shit!" the great man wheezed.

Well, Tyrion believed that, though he wasn't so sure about his father's shit being gold, he _did_ know that Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella were all Jaime's. Still, he could hardly fathom how, so close to the Neck, this story was being told. Jyck put a hand on his sword, "Should I cut their tongues out for such filth, m'lord?" he whispered.

"Do no such thing, it would only lend truth to these stories. Ignore them."

Sullenly, Jyck returned to his food, angry he'd been cheated from a good tongue cutting. Tyrion shook his head. He'd known the bit of tomfoolery concerning Bran Stark would come back to bite them all in their arses. If he was a religious man, he'd think surely the Lannister's career in child murder and attempted child murder had angered the gods. Add to that years of incest, adultery and oathbreaking and well, the Lannister name was probably as hated among the gods as it was among the earthly world.

Tyrion sighed, _must I lose my head because I am kin to idiots?_

He continued to listen, trying to figure out how this story had come to knowledge. How had Cersei allowed them to find out? He couldn't blame Jaime. Both he and his sister knew that Jaime was the feckless one, the one who acted then thought, the innocent one, in a way, and it was up to them to protect him from himself. He wondered sadly if he'd ever be able to see his siblings again. He'd love to ask, _was it worth it? Was your fucking worth your heads, and your children's heads, and the countless deaths of the war to come?_ There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Surely, you must reap what you sow.

For surely it must come to war. If Cersei had ever bothered to make herself loved by the king, there'd be nothing to worry about. But poor Robert Baratheon was miserable in his marriage, and had little love for his children. No, their enemies would just at a chance to bring them down. This rumor would be investigated by the small council, they'll produce whatever meager evidence might persuade the judges, and they would promptly lose their heads. Then, a lord with gladly give his daughter to be queen, and she, young and beautiful and fertile to be sure, will likely give the king many children, with black hair and blue eyes.

Suddenly, a plan formulated in his mind. He knew if he returned to King's Landing he'd be walking to certain imprisonment, if not death, which would leave him less than useless. But if he could make it to Casterly Rock, then perhaps he could be of use somehow. He knew proud Tywin Lannister would never believe it, but he might believe Tyrion if he told him he had reason to put faith in this slander. If Tywin Lannister had the sense the gods gave a goose, he'd find a way to smuggle Jaime, Cersei, and the children to someplace in Essos, give them new names and gold enough to get enough guards to protect them from Robert's wrath. They might be able to live the rest of their lives in some semblance of peace.

 _Wouldn't that be nice?_ Of course, his father would do no such thing. Tywin Lannister would keep his pride. Tywin Lannister would make war. And Tywin Lannister would be crushed. Tyrion sighed. Only in his deepest thoughts, ones he'd never dare consider consciously, could he admit that some small part of him, however minute and numb, cared enough for his father and sister that he did not want to see them humiliated and killed.

With a sudden resolved, from a part of him he could not place, he resolved to take back roads and ride hard to Casterly Rock in order to help his father with what is to come.

 _I must be mad,_ he thought, _the damned god forsaken things I do for love._

After an almost sad parting with the Yoren and the other Black Brothers – Tyrion had told him a rider had come in the night, telling him that his uncle Kevan lay possibly dying – he and the two Lannister men rode hard for the West.

The journey was a harrowing one, the weather wet, and the back roads that led to the Rock inhospitable and and lacking in any manner of comfort. They could hear the bustle of Lannisport before they saw it, finally after nearly a week of riding. He could not recall ever hearing a more welcome sound. They rode into the town, people recognized the Lannister colors and bowed to them. Tyrion found himself dreadfully tempted to delay meeting his father. He fancied going to an inn, finding a woman, and passing a happy, comfortable night before confronting the terrible days to come. But he knew delaying the inevitable was a dumb man's folly, and didn't dismount until he reached the Lion's Mouth.

He was greeted by guards who seemed confused at his arrival at the Rock, but saw him through nonetheless. When they reached the Greeting Hall at the end of the Lion's mouth, they found Derrek, the master steward, a nervous man of two and sixty, there, "Lord Tyrion, we were not expecting to host you here now or any time soon," he said, with unconcealed reproach.

The dwarf and his men dismounted, "I daresay that was my design. Pray tell me," he said handing the reigns of his horse to a stableboy, "where is my lord father?"

"In his solar with your lord uncle," the steward replied. When he saw Tyrion heading off in that general direction, the steward called after him, "My lord, wouldn't you like to bathe and rest before meeting them? I could tell them of your presence in the mean time."

Without turning back, Tyrion replied, "Oh and ruin my surprise? I think not."

It was a measure of labor to go from the Greeting Hall at the front of the Castle all the way to his father's apartments, high and deep within the labyrinthine tunnels of the Rock. This was perhaps the best measure of protection the castle provided. Casterly Rock was not the Eyrie, sitting high on a steep mountain. Twenty riders could comfortably pass through the Lion's mouth at a time. But if an army was so unfortunate as to deign to try to take the castle, no army but the hundreds of natural and man made tunnels would be needed to defeat them. They could just as easily find themselves at the cistern overlooking the Sunset Sea than in actual rooms where someone could hide. All that was needed thus were a few men here and there to appear from hidden walkways and pick off the numbers one by one. Even in his twenty fifth year, most of which had been spent at the Rock, Tyrion still found it difficult not to get lost in the halls – although perhaps this was in part due to a desire to get lost, to get as far away as possible from the dreadful things his mind was telling him were about to happen.

When finally, he reached his father's solar, his legs were screaming at the abuse, but pressing his lips into a hard line, he pushed forward, opening the door to the grand room that was his father's solar.

If Lord Tywin Lannister was surprised to see his son, his face portrayed nothing. Kevan, on the other hand, had his eyes widen, and he asked, "Tyrion, what in seven hells are you doing here?"

 _Good question, uncle._ On his journey, Tyrion had several times wondered if this endeavor of his would come to any good. He had a feeling he knew the answer, which was not favorable to him. _And yet I must not let my family die for want of trying_. He winced at the awful thought of Myrcella and Tommen, heads removed from their bodies, for the crime of being born such as they were. Surely Tyrion was not an innocent, far from it, and in the dark he had more sins to think on than he could reasonably count. Yet what had Myrcella done to deserve this? What had Tommen? He grimaced, "I'm sorry at the lack of ceremony, uncle, father," he made a little bow to both of them. "However, there is an urgent matter I must take up with my father that cannot wait."

It took Kevan a second to realize Tyrion was asking him to leave. When finally understanding reached him, he glanced at Tywin, who made a little nod. Kevan rose slowly, bowing to his lordly brother, "It's nice to see you, nephew," Kevan said, patting him on the shoulder.

"And you as well uncle, truly," Tyrion replied sincerely.

When they were alone, his lord father said, "And here I had expected you were returning to Court."

Tyrion took his time answering, grasping for words as he sat down opposite his father at his desk. He desperately wished there was some wine within reach. It would be nice to be at least half drunk during this conversation. "I had expected that as well," Tyrion said slowly.

His father regarded him curiously, "And yet here you are."

"And yet here I am."

Tywin Lannister, famous for his patience, lost it then, "Are you my son or a talking bird from the summer isles? What is it you want?"

For the not the first time in the past week, Tyrion found himself fighting an excruciating headache. He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut, "Surely you've heard the rumors about my dear siblings by now."

Tywin Lannister crossed his arms, "Slanderous lies – did you derail yourself all the way here for such ridiculousness, by the gods I'd thought you of all people had more wits about you!"

"Slanderous they may be... but they are not lies," Tyrion said quietly.

"Do you presume to believe such disgusting things about your brother and sister? Now, I know you and Cersei have never been fond of each other, but to think such a thing of Jaime-"

"And why would I believe such a thing about my gallant big brother unless I knew it to be true. Sometimes the wildest stories hold the greatest truths."

Tywin Lannister had nothing to say to that. He was quiet, considering, brow furrowed in thought. "Even if it isn't true, the so-called evidence is mounting against them. Cersei has not made herself so beloved of the king that he would think it impossible. His brothers need only give him a fair noble maid to lust after-" At that Lord Tywin's eyes widened, "What is it?"

"Margaery Tyrell has recently arrived in court," Tyrion had never seen Lord Tywin look his years, but there it was, "And, if Pycelle is to be believed, the King has become so taken with her that he sent almost all the marriageable lords away to Essos to broker a foreign marriage for Tommen or Myrcella."

 _And there it is,_ Tyrion thought, _the final nail in the coffin._ "So what are we to do?"

His father did not answer him immediately, and for a moment, Tyrion Lannister offered up a prayer to whatever god or gods who might be listening, that Tywin's pride was not so great that he could not seen a lost cause when it was right in front of him. But then his father looked at him square in the face, deep green eyes flecked with gold hard and unwavering, "What we do is simple. The only thing we can do. We wait to see how this thing plays out, and should Robert Baratheon presume to imprison my children and grandchildren based on circumstance and the testimony of perverts, then I will have to raise a host to remind him who was it that made sure he was sitting on the Iron Throne at the end of his rebellion, and not burnt alive by one of Aerys' pet pyromancers."

Tyrion wanted to slap his father, "And do you think you can win against the power of the other armies that will fight against us. No disrespect father, but have you forgotten how hated our family is outside of the Westerlands."

"Have _you_ forgotten all I've taught you? _Nothing_ matters but our family and our legacy. And if we have to die defending those two things, then we die defending them."

For once, Tyrion Lannister had nothing, no quick reply, no smart scheme. Only a small resolve that formed in the back of his mind, _I will not die for a family and a legacy that will not remember me._


	5. Margaery II

Margaery II

She would remember this day until her last day.

It was precisely two months, two weeks, and two days since her arrival at court. She remembered thinking, as she walked the gardens, how ridiculous it was to imagine winter was about to arrive, when the heat was so intensely present, sitting in the air like an old stubborn ox, making it muggy and hard to take a deep breath. In the godswood, the air was easier to breathe. The plants seemed to give off a coolness to the air, and take away the stickiness. It was also the one place out of doors where the stench of horse dung and sweat was near bearable. Yet even with a dress of thin cotton hanging off her shoulders, she could not help but sweat.

Margaery sat as close to the branches as she dared without dirtying herself or her gorgeous ivory dress with golden hems.

The maiden made flesh.

It was there that he came upon. She heard Robert before she saw him. By now she knew his heavy step, and his laborious breaths and his wheezing. Always, he was accompanied by a kingsguard, and on this day it was the gallant Ser Barristan the Bold, white hair matching his white clock. "Margaery!" the king exclaimed, as if surprised to find her there, "Have you come here to escape this unbearable heat as well?"

"Indeed your grace, I have," she scooted over a bit, "Would you do me the honor of joining me?"

"It is you who honors me by allowing me to sit with you, my dear," he replied, sitting down, "And how does my good friend?"

Of late, Robert had taken it upon himself to loosen the formal way one addresses a lady of high birth, speaking to her the way a youth might speak to his lady love. She smiled demurely, "I am well but for this heat, and your grace?"

"I find myself much the same as you," he paused, "But I'd likely be much improved if you called me Robert."

Margaery flushed with satisfaction, but lowered her eyes shyly, "Yes, your gr- … Robert."

"There then, now it's like we're good old friends."

"Nothing pleases me more your…nothing pleases me more, Robert," she whispered his name, as if with wild veneration, and allowed her eyes to meet his. He was smiling down at her, and in his face Margaery saw shadows of where he had been handsome, large watery eyes that had been a clear blue, hair black as a raven's wing, and a fair smooth complexion despite the rolls of fat, and taller than most men. _Our children will be beautiful,_ she thought.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before the king spoke again, "Margaery, may I ask you a private question?"

"You may do anything you like, you are the king," she replied boldly.

"Yes, but it is never my desire to make you feel unsafe with me."

"That…" she took a deep breath, "That you could never do…Robert."

He smiled wide, but then grew serious, "Your father sent you here with the hopes that you'd find yourself a good match, a husband. Has your search been successful in any way?"

Margaery sighed in a forlorn way, hoping Renly was right about his brother, and would believe what she was about to say, "I don't quite know how to go about this question. I've found a man, a man like no other, one I have come to love deeply, one whose rank befits mine own, who I know could give me strong, healthy children…" she turned away, screwing her eyes shut tight, hoping to make them look wet. She lowered her head, "but it cannot be."

"Is this man married? Does he return your affections?"

She turned to him, wild, "He is married, yes, as to the latter. Sometimes…I see in his eyes that he might love me, he is so kind, so gallant, so helpful…but his wife is called to most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, she's tall and fair and so smart, what could he want with someone like me?"

Robert seemed like he was forming an understanding in his find, he began to regard her a bit more closely, "Surely…surely…someone like you…well…someone like you is better than any woman in any court in all the world."

She wiped away tears that were not there with the back of her hand, and he handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted. Margaery looked him deep in the eyes, "Do…" her voice was little more than a whisper, "Do you truly mean what you say?"

"With all my heart," he wrapped his arms around her, "With all my heart, dear Margaery," he bent his head to kiss her lips.

Margaery was slow to open her mouth to his, allowing him to guide her. When finally, she opened her mouth, he tasted like wine and meat and all things rich men were certain to taste of, and something else just beneath the surface, a taste Margaery thought with clarity could only be one thing: Victory.

After a few moments, she backed away, pushing him gently, "Your grace, Robert, I c-can't," she lay her hands on his chest, "I can't, my family would…I just, I – I – I-"

"It's alright, dear one," he drew her to him, laying her head on his chest, "I understand, I understand how you feel," he pushed her away, catching her face between his hands, "I would do nothing to bring you shame or dishonor. Of that you can be certain."

"Oh, I don't doubt you," she sighed, "I trust you with my life. It's only, I don't trust myself."

Robert laughed, and drew her into his embrace once more, "Oh dear heart, how I wish I could find a way to make you mine own. If I could find a way…I would do it in a heart beat…"

 _Wait until tomorrow's small council meeting, you'll find your way, dear heart._ "Truly, you love me?" she asked often, "But the Queen…"

She could feel his grimace, "Cersei is nice to look at, but so cold. She's never loved me, done her duty and nothing more, no passion, no kindness. You, on the other hand, you remind me of my first love. Lyanna Stark had passion in everything she did, and she loved me the way you do, or perhaps even better than she."

Margaery could have cried from joy. It had worked. The scheming, the conniving, she'd succeeded more than she thought. Renly had told her about how hung up on the Stark girl he still was. But that she reminded him of her was the greatest thing she could possibly imagine.

She was about to make a grand reply of adoration when a high, feminine voice cracked through the air's stillness like a whip, "So, you cannot satisfy yourself with whores and kitchen wenches, you now must shame yourself and me with ladies of the court."

They both looked up with a start. Cersei was a vision of southron beauty. Golden hair coiffed and curled, adorned with rubies about her head, red silk and cloth-of-gold dress hanging off her tall, lean body, hugging her in all the right places, breasts still high, even after three children. Her emerald eyes large and clear and cruel. She was the only person in King's Landing Margaery actually feared. A step behind her stood her brother – and lover – Jaime the Kingslayer, as tall and golden and brilliant as his twin, looking at Robert with the same rage-filled cruel green gaze.

Robert stood up to turn to them, taking her hand, "What a king does is his concern alone, woman," he told his wife contemptuously, "Go be mother to your children and leave me be."

" _Your_ children? They are _our_ children, my love, or have you forgotten?" She did not know what Robert heard when she said this, but Margaery heard loud and clear the true meaning of Cersei's words: _Do you know they are not yours, yet?_

" _Our_ children yes, my dear heir Joffrey especially. Perhaps if you were not so concerned trying to govern me you'd not have let our son become the craven liar he is."

Cersei blanched, she could not have looked more shocked if Aegon the Conqueror had landed betwixt them on his giant black Balerion. "You dare speak to me, your true wife, in such away before the gods and that little smirking slut from Highgarden?" her voice was low with anger, "Did she tell you she loved you, Robert?" Margaery went cold, she knew she must act so the queen could not feed him doubt.

She jumped out from behind Robert and fell at Cersei's feet, sobbing, "Your grace! Please! This is my fault, all my fault," she looked back at the king, imploring, seeing sympathy in his face, then to Cersei in the same way, but her expression was cold, impassive, "It was not my intention to sow hard feelings in your marriage," she sobbed harder, but daren't look up, "I never meant for any of this, please," she whispered shakily, "Forgive me," she covered her face, making as if she was crying.

"Look at the girl, Cersei," Robert said, his voice venomous, "Look what your jealously has done. When have you ever cared a fig about what I did with who? Is it so impossible for you that someone good and pure might love me? And how not, when you have reviled me since the day we were married?"

Margaery imagined if she could see the queen's face, it would still be shocked, "I will not speak with you when you are in such a temper," Cersei whispered, "But we _will_ speak of this, Robert. I am your _wife_ and you'd do best to remember that."

She could hear two sets of footsteps growing more distant, and then she felt Robert's hands pulling her to her feet. Margaery threw her arms about his neck and kissed his face, "I am sorry," she wept.

"You needn't be sorry, my dear." He put his arms around the small of her back and kissed her forehead, "But you'd do best to always have someone about you, perhaps your brother or one of mine at the very least. They're the only ones I imagine competent enough to keep you safe whose loyalty Cersei hasn't bought for herself."

"As you command, your grace."

"Robert," he said sternly.

"Robert," she chimed in musically.

After a moment, Robert seemed to remember Ser Barristan, who'd be as silent as a ghost for this entire episode, "Wouldn't it have been well if you'd have warned me, Ser Barristan, or are your old eyes so unseeing?"

Ser Barristan fidgeted nervously, "Your grace, she's your queen and mine," the old knight put forth gently.

Robert grimaced at him but said no word of chastisement to him. Margaery could not fault the man's loyalty, but was sure that when she took Cersei's place, he'd be just as loyal to her. _Your queen…and mine_ , Margery thought, _but not for long, Ser Barristan._

Later, when the castle had calmed down, she knew she had to speak her brother and Renly. Conveniently, she found both of them in Loras' chambers, spooning in her brother's large featherbed, thankfully, they were still fully clothed.

"Margery!" Renly cried out happily, "Or should I call you sister, now?"

"Not yet," Margaery smiled wickedly, "You've heard everything?"

"Ser Barristan gave me an account of the events. The poor man looked as if his heart might stop. By all accounts, it was quite the show."

"It was," Margery agreed, "And to think it required almost no work on either of our parts. Wonderful thing, don't you agree?"

"So what's next?" Loras asked, yawning.

"Next?" Renly grinned, "Oh I don't know. It might be that Ned Stark and my dear brother Stannis have some rather awful news for the king to be presented to the small council and his grace on the morrow."

"Oh dear," Margaery giggled, "Whatever could that be?"


	6. Renly II

Renly II

"Aren't you going to ask why I am smiling, brother?" Renly asked Stannis genially.

His big brother glared at him, "If I refuse to ask you will you not tell me regardless?"

Renly laughed, "You wound me, brother. But I _will_ tell you, only because I love you so dearly. You and Ned Stark don't have to worry about losing your heads when you reveal your findings to the king today. You'll find him quite on your side if it results in becoming rid of Cersei."

Stannis frowned, "A bad thing to do, a shameful thing. But I suppose it's necessary enough. _You_ had the easy task though, let me tell you."

"Why? All you had to do was lead our dear Ned Stark in the right direction."

"Yes," he grimaced, "And when he found out the truth I had to quite literally keep him from going to Cersei with mine own body."

" _Cersei?_ Why on Earth would he go to Cersei?!"

Stannis sighed, "Under the pretext of mercy. It took me three hours for convince him to take the news directly to Robert, reminding him that Jon Arryn had let Cersei know he knew and look what happened to him? And it would go worse for him and his daughters since two hands dying in a row might look suspicious. I had to tell him she might kill Robert, and even still, he kept telling me what Robert would do to the children. I was damn near persuaded myself to go with him to her at one point. And then all night I had to watch at his door to make sure he didn't slip away."

"Ah so you didn't get your beauty sleep, brother? Is that why you're so cranky?"

Stannis gave him a murderous look, but could not say a word because they'd arrived at the small council chamber. They stepped into the cavernous hall, and took their accustomed seats, the Master of Ships between the Hand and Pycelle, the Master of Laws between the Spider and Littlefinger, Ser Barristan at the farthest between Littlefinger and Pycelle, and the king at the head of the table.

"My small council," Robert said. Renly regarded him, for the first time in a long time, the king's eyes were clear of drink, his smile genuine. Renly felt a stab of pride at his brother's happiness. It was his doing after all, if indirectly. "So what great matters have we to talk of today?"

Pycelle began to speak but Stannis' patience would not bear the old fool's droning way of taking years to utter a single sentence, he cut in with his voice low, but the tone was one that made all men listen, "Your grace, the Hand and I have made some grievous discoveries, regarding your queen and the death of your beloved friend Jon Arryn."

Robert sat up straight, "And what are these discoveries?"

Ned spoke up, voice soft and stern, a believable voice, Renly thought, an open face that made him decidedly above suspicion. No man in the seven kingdoms was better for delivering this news. "Your Grace…" Ned began the story. Talking about the book Jon Arryn was studying, about how Grand Maesters in Oldtown all agreed the symptoms of his death sounded eerily like the Eastern poison, the Tears of Lys. He talked of the king's acknowledged bastards, Edric Storm in the Stormlands, Mya Stone in the Eyrie, Gendry at the forge, and little Barra in Littlefinger's brothel, all with their black hair and blue eyes, of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen and their blonde hair and green eyes. He talked of the Kingslayer's closeness to his sister, of the fact that no one could tell where Cersei and Jaime were when Bran fell, how Ser Rodrick and Maester Lewin had said that Bran had climbed that very tower half a hundred times without so much as a stumble. For effect, Renly assumed, he wondered aloud if Robert could ever clearly remember spilling his seed in Cersei, or times when he'd found the Kingslayer with the Queen at a queer time and place. He told of the letter Lysa Arryn sent to Winterfell, accusing the Lannisters of her husband's death, and asked Robert to remember how well Jon had been before his sickness. He finished his long speech with a final, haunting sentence, "The last words of the man who raised us both were, 'Robert, the seed is strong,' you owe it to him to at least consider these words I'm saying, and know they come from a place of deep love for you and yours."

There was a stunned silence in the small council chamber. As if no one had know of this, as if it were news to them. None of them dared make the king think they'd ever suspected such a thing be true, and yet, the way Stark presented it, it sounded so true. Renly desperately wanted to laugh, but he daren't. He watched his brother's face turn from it's normal color to incredibly pale to a deep, deep red. Robert opened his mouth, but for a moment, no sound seemed to come out, and when it did, it was the most bloodcurdling roar Renly had ever heard, a sound he'd never thought a man could produce.

Still roaring, he wrenched himself from the table, greatchair skidding back and falling over. He made for the door, and his mouth started making words, "I'LL KILL THE WHORE! I'LL KILL THE WHORE AND HER CHILDREN! FETCH ME MY WAR HAMMER! I'LL KILL THEM ALL! I'LL KILL THEM AAAAALLLL!"

It took himself, Ser Barristan, Stannis, and Stark to hold him back, to subdue him, and lead him back to the chair. They were all standing over him, placating him as violent man sobs ripped through the air. "Y-y-y-y-y-your grace," Pycelle began, "I can h-h-h-hardly believe such things about our most b-b-b-beauteous qu-"

He never got to finish that sentence, or ever say another one again. Robert's fist connected with the ancient man's face, and Renly heard a sound like leaves crunching underfoot. Pycelle was propelled several paces back, blood and bone spewing from his ruined face, he fell to the ground in a messy heap, made a few, strangled noises, and promptly stopped moving.

Renly offered up a small prayer of thanks that Pycelle had no known family to ask after him. No one gave him so much of a glance, save for Ned, who pitifully closed the fool's eyes, and returned to Robert's side. _To die in such a way…_

But there was no time to ponder his mortality. Loras would grieve for him, he knew, and so would Margaery, and maybe even Robert and Stannis. "…there must be a trial…" Stannis was saying.

"Fine." Robert said, eerily calm. Renly would have been scared had this been directed at him. "Trial, evidence, do all you want. But I wanted them all in black cells, _now_ , even the children."

"It will be done." Renly said, but no one seemed sure what to do.

"Am I speaking Dothraki dammit?! _I WANT THEM IN BLACK CELLS NOW!"_

"Stark will go for the Kingslayer," Stannis said in the low voice, "I will take the children, and Renly will go for the Queen."

At once they parted. Renly found Loras sparring in the garden and called him, along with his brother Garlan, saying only, "We need to go see the Queen." They understood and went with him at once.

They took the winding steps to the Queen's apartments, slowly, so as not to incite any attention. But it didn't matter, before they arrived at Cersei's rooms, they heard screams and fighting in the hall outside her rooms.

When they got to the tops of the steps, they saw Boros Blount and Jaime Lannister taking up steel against Stark and his men, fighting with all their might. Garlan and Loras joined them, but unarmed, Renly could do little but watch from the side.

When Loras mowed down Boros Blount, there was a tiny commotion as Jaime now had to shift and take all the aggression alone. Renly was fast and thin enough to use the moment to slip by the Kingslayer and crash into Cersei's rooms.

Behind him, he heard the Kingslayer cry out, but when he didn't feel a sword in his back, he assumed Jaime had been subdued. In that moment he saw nothing but Cersei.

From the way she was looking at him, he got the sense that she'd been waiting, waiting to look deep into the next face that entered the room, and depending on the face, it would mean freedom or imprisonment. And in a manner that would have been most assured of Cersei Lannister, she sat before him in her finest clothes, red silk, gold, and black – in much the same way Margaery had decked herself out to meet the king. A reminder to everyone that she was a Baratheon Queen, and to drive the point home, heavy on her brow lay the crown of Visenya Targaryen, thick wrought silver and gold.

The look she gave him would haunt him till his last day, he knew, but he was man enough to look her in the eye. He thought of something he'd heard Ned Stark say, _he who passes the sentence should swing the sword_.

Well there he was, he who had made this all possible, self-congratulation swallowed up by the romantic poignancy of the whole thing.

Cersei Lannister rose, putting down the book that she'd had in her lap, "Am I to go to the dungeon, Lord Renly?"

Jaime and Cersei had been captured and locked in black cells, with far less casualties than Renly had dared hope. Tommen and Joffrey were in cells as well, as well as Sandor Clegane, who had been trying to make off with the older boy.

With them in the small council chamber was Myrcella. Pycelle had been cleaned up and removed to the care of the Silent Sisters, and nothing but a red spot on the wood remained as remembrance to him. The little blonde girl was shaking, looking at them with guileless green eyes, looking to those she'd thought were her uncles for help, even after they'd told her the truth of her parents' relationship.

"Can I see my father?" she asked in a small voice.

"What do you want of your father? He's in a black cell, awaiting trial."

"No, no," the child said in a voice that broke Renly's heart, "I meant…I meant the king. I want to see the king."

"I need you to be a big girl now, Myrcella. In due time the king will see you," Stannis said, not unkindly. Shireen was of an age with the girl, and Renly knew if he loved anyone, Stannis loved his ugly little daughter. "In the meantime child, Lord Renly and I need you to do us a favor."

"Of course, Uncle," the girl paused, "…I mean, Lord Stannis."

It was only Stannis and Renly in the room. Ned Stark was attending his dead Northmen, while Varys and Littlefinger were off dealing with affairs of the realm, or so they said.

"Good," Renly smiled at her, and she smiled back. Even if she was no princess by birth, Myrcella was a princess in every other way. "We need you to write a letter to your grandfather, Lord Tywin, you know your letters, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered meekly, "What must I write? Will you help me? And I don't know how to send one either."

"Worry not, Lord Stannis and I have already written it, all we need from you is to copy the letter we have in your own hand, and we'll take care of the rest child."

When they presented the letter to Myrcella, she read through it once quickly and looked at them both fearfully. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course, child."

"Are we all to die? I mean, are mother, uncle Jaime, I mean, father, Joffrey, Tommen and I, will the king have us killed."

Renly thought it might be kind to lie, but Stannis would have nothing of the like. "I will not lie to you, Myrcella. I don't believe it will do you any good not to know the truth now. It is highly probable that your parents will die, theirs is a great treason. There is a good chance that Joffrey will be executed as well, and Tommen. However, it is likely the king will not have you killed."

Myrcella nodded, seeming to accept Stannis' words. With dry eyes, she took up her feather, and began to copy the letter.

 _Cersei's daughter through and through_ , Renly thought, _it might be safer to spare Tommen than this one._


	7. Cersei

Cersei

Cersei Lannister would not cry in front of him.

She was not stupid. She knew who had orchestrated her downfall. Oh, to be sure, the Tyrells were ambitious, with the Queen of Thorns at their head and charming Loras Tyrell in court making every woman fall in love with him. And yet, they lacked the confidence to act alone. She knew Stannis, though he bore her no great love, could not and would not employ the type of criminal mind required to invent such an ugly little thing. No, it was Renly Baratheon, walking beside her to the maidenvault who had done this thing. She knew this, and though at the moment she was trapped, she had begun working her way to a chance to pay this debt. She knew with absolute confidence that they would not dare to kill her and her brother and her children, lest Casterly Rock come down upon them with all its mighty force.

When they arrived at the stairs that led down to the black cells, Cersei felt a chill run down her spin. She looked at Renly, trying to conceal her horror, "Surely you can't mean to take me to the dungeons."

Renly regarded her with a cool, impassive gaze, "The king has ordered you, your brother, and your sons remain in the black cells until a trial," he started down a step and turned to look at her expectantly.

For the first time fear seized Cersei. _Joffrey in a black cell? And poor baby Tommen? And what of Myrcella?_ Cersei was of a mind to push him down the steps, for he'd never survive such a fall. But she knew the Knight of Flowers, standing behind her, would kill her just the same way, and say that she had pushed Renly, and fallen by accident. "I am the Queen," she lifted her head high, "Joffrey and Tommen are your brother's trueborn sons, princes, and Jaime is a kingsguard."

"Sure," Renly nodded his head, "And even queens and trueborn princes and kingsguards may be accused of high treason. The king decides what is done with those accused, and he has decided that you will stay in the black cells. The maidenvault is not secure enough nor reflective of the crimes you will stand trial for, according to his grace. Still, you will be treated gently."

"Treated gently in a black cell is like saying treated gently with dragon fire."

Renly shrugged, "Your grace, you can either take my hand and come with down this steps with dignity, or Ser Loras and I can drag you there. Your treatment until the trial is based entirely on how pliant you act."

 _Pliant? I am a Lioness of Casterly Rock_. "And when, pray tell is this trial?"

"The Kingslayer, your children, and you will stand trial a month hence."

"A month? Why not tomorrow?" She asked bitterly.

"Witnesses have been called to testify from across the Seven Kingdoms. Time is needed to send for them and for them to travel here. Hopefully the wait will be no more than a month. Now, I've greater matters to attend to than your stalling, take my arm so I can take you to your cell."

Cersei would have struck him, but she was in no position where that would have boded well for her. "I will go to my cell, as the king orders, but I shan't touch _you_."

Renly shrugged again, in a toneless voice saying, "Suit yourself, the stairs are quite steep and uneven, I hope you don't fall."

The stairs were steep and uneven, but Cersei clung to her pride as she clung to the wall. She had almost made it to the bottom of the steps without so much as a stumble, when her foot missed a step and she crashed to her knees at the bottom. Tears of shock and pain sprung to her eyes but she would not let them see her cry. She rose slowly, making sure both her feet were planted firmly on the ground, and stared Renly Baratheon in the eye. He had a tiny smirk, but said nothing as he led her to her cell.

She noticed none of the ones in her vicinity were occupied by her children or brother, but common thieves and rapers and any other scum the goldcloaks could clean off the streets. Her cell _was_ a bit bigger than the rest, and cleaner. There was a thin mattress instead of hay, a plain chamber pot, and a small, thin wooden table and chair. _A black cell fit for a queen_. She was led in, the gate shut behind her and locked. Cersei turned to look at Renly in the eye. She would not pass from his mind meekly.

"Is there anything you want? A book, perhaps? I cannot give you needles for embroidery, for obvious reasons."

"I'd like my copy of the _Seven Pointed Star_ ," she paused, "Will I be allowed to send ravens?"

"The contents of your letters will be examined before you send or receive them, and reviewed to see if they will be acceptable. But unless you plan on writing your father and telling him to come and kill the king, there is little reason why a raven couldn't be sent for you."

"Then I will require some ink, quills and parchment."

Renly nodded, "Will that be all, your grace?"

"Yes, I want you to remember something for me, Renly-"

"That a Lannister always pays her debt?" he cut her off haughtily, "Yes, I know of you Lannisters and your debt paying, but what of it? Will your ghost pay me your debt when your head's been cut off? Make no mistake, that is what Robert intends, and as powerful as Casterly Rock may be, the combined power of the Stormlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, and the Crownlands will crush your father." He gave her a pitiful look and walked off.

A knot wound itself in Cersei's stomach. She would not let herself think it, but in the tiniest part of her mind, she knew it to be true. _I've lost_.

It was two weeks before she received something from her father. The letter was thrown through the bars of her cell, golden seal already broken. She snatched it up from the ground, desperate for word, and sat back on her little thin mattressed cot. For two weeks, her questions have gone unanswered. Those who brought her food did not look at her, and it was a different person every second day, and they were always hard looking low types who had no sympathy in their eyes. Cersei had begun to feel a sort of madness creep in. She had no idea what was happening, no idea if her children were alive or dead, or how fared her twin. She didn't know if her father had gathered a host or was waiting. She thought that by now Tyrion must have returned to King's Landing, and if so, had he been seized or was he free? If he was free, surely he would have demanded to see her. There was no great love between them, but he must try to help them. Unless, of course, he'd sold them all out to the king in order to keep Casterly Rock. It was possible, but even if Cersei could believe he'd see her killed, he did love Jaime and Tommen and Myrcella.

All of which is to say, Cersei was quite shocked to see it was Tyrion who had sent her the raven from Casterly Rock.

 _Sweet Sister,_

 _You needn't worry. Our just King Robert will see to it that justice is served. All who know you know that you are not guilty of this egregious crime. Be certain, at your trial, the truth will be revealed for all to see, and you, our brother, and my niece and nephews will be set free, and you and the King may resume your most blessed union, perhaps even have another son. All I can offer you at this moment is a bit of wisdom to help you through these tough times: Pray to the Father for justice, the Mother for mercy, the Crone for wisdom, and the warrior for courage. Eat whatever they feed you to keep up your strength. And above all, do not despair._

 _Your Brother, Sincerely,_

 _Tyrion Lannister_

 _Heir of the West_

 _Lord Castellan of Casterly Rock_

Cersei read the letter over multiple times. This hardly sounded like her little brother. She knew he was smart enough to know the truth about her and Jaime. If he really was at Casterly Rock, why did he not mention their father? She reread the letter once more, paying specific attention to the way her brother signed his name. " _Tyrion Lannister, Heir of the West, Lord Castellan of Casterly Rock._ " Cersei thought a few moments. If he was lord castellan of the Rock, her father must not be there, or her uncle. Cersei knew her father would never make Tyrion Lord Castellan unless it was for a dire purpose, especially if Kevan was there. That could only mean that Tywin and Kevan were on the field, with all their best retainers and generals, and her father had left Tyrion to hold the castle. Cersei could have laughed but she daren't. Still, her heart lifted a bit. She knew her father would be laying in wait, and if her trial were to go sour, all that he would need to do is strike the city hard and fast and save them. Unless Robert caught news of this and sent an army to destroy them. However, she reasoned with herself, surely there is no army so close that it could arrive before the trial. Just as she was pouring over the letter again, trying to trick out anymore hidden meanings Tyrion could have woven into his letter, her cell door swung open.

Before her stood Margaery Tyrell. The girl who had helped ensure she was stripped of her dignity, and who helped make her children bastards. "You," Cersei whispered venomously.

Margaery ignored the dark tone. "I have brought you some food. Surely, what they give you here must not be particularly appetizing." She lay a full tray before her. Cersei could smell venison and onion soup, and plums and lamb and wine. But she made sure her face did not so much as register the food.

"Your day will come, whore," she whispered, "you may have me killed yet, but a Lannister's debts are always paid, even from beyond the grave."

"I have not killed you," the girl said gently.

"Do you truly think me stupid?" Cersei asked, "I know you arrived in court with the design to seduce the king away from me. Not that I made it difficult for you. The king and I have never been loving. But I am a true and dutiful wife, and I gave him three beautiful, healthy children, two boys and a girl. If it wasn't for you he wouldn't have been so eager to have me killed."

"I did not seduce the king away from you. Robert and I are in love. I didn't want it to happen and neither did he, but it did. As for these allegations, I can only pray, for your sake, that they are not true. It's true you might be meeting the gods soon, and I pray that you don't meet them with the stain of incest and adultery on your soul."

Cersei wished there was something she could throw, but she was too famished to waste good food on the Highgarden bitch. "Why are you here?" she asked, instead, wanting to be rid of her.

"Two things," Margaery said, "One, I counsel you to send a raven to your father and tell him not to come to King's Landing. My father is here with a host of 50,000, as well as more than enough food to sustain even the poorest of the city for a two-year siege. He will not win."

Cersei felt faint suddenly, and utterly terrified. No one could save her, she knew that now. She'd never felt so defeated, "And what is two?"

"A kindness. I cannot save you or the Kingslayer if you are found guilty, but I will use whatever influence I have to ensure your children are not killed."

"Are you not willing to have the blood of children on your hands, Maid Margaery?" Cersei sneered, but underneath, she couldn't help but feel the tiniest relief.

"I am not," the girl replied, "I am not you or your father. Myrcella and Tommen and Joffrey did not ask to be born of treasonous incest. I might be able to convince the king to allow them to live after a fashion. Mayhap he can send the boys to the wall, and let Myrcella be fostered someplace far from here."

Cersei could not bring herself to thank Margaery Tyrell, so she simply nodded in acknowledgement. Margaery curtseyed, and swished out of the cell, which was promptly locked behind her, and for the first time since her imprisonment, Cersei Lannister cried.

On the day of her trial, Cersei was given a plain shift of gray to wear, and only a plain shift, no underclothes, or even shoes. She was allowed to wash with pungent lye soap, but was given no comb for her hair, or even a ribbon to tie it back. She could only guess how she looked. Shift leaving her shapeless and fat looking. Hair falling in lose curls down half her back, wet and thin. Eyes blood shot and skin pale. Feet bare. She was shamed to have to be seen by the entire court in such a state. _I am the Queen_ , she thought, near tears, _how dare they?_

The waiting was painful. It had been three days since the expected day of trial. She longed to see her brother and children, to have this come to an end. And everyday she waited, everyday she allowed herself to hope that something had happened. Robert had died suddenly. Margaery had been caught committing some sort of lurid act. Her father had sacked the city. But everyday, they said tomorrow, so she waited.

Things were different on this day. They washed her and gave her the shift. And at high noon they came for her. Ser Barristan and Ser Arys, large, shining white knights. Cersei rose from her cot, but neither of them bowed. "You are to come with us." Arys said plainly, as he shackled her wrists.

"Surely, this isn't necessary."

"Can't speak to that," Arys grimaced, "You are to come with us, shackled. Those were our orders." She looked to Ser Barristan, who could not meet her eyes.

Cersei followed, offering no resistance, putting a placid, confident smile on her lip. They walked the winding steps and passages to the throne room, her feet cut and bleed on the stones, but she would not wince. _They will not see me cry._

She was paraded down the aisle before all the Lords and Ladies of court. She noted Sansa Stark, who would have been her daughter in law, looking sheepish and horrified, with the little savage sister of hers on her left looking well pleased. She noted many and more faces with the same satisfied sniggering expressions. So pleased to see Cersei Lannister brought low.

Her heart lifted to see her children, well and clean and bright eyed, though they looked so scared. _My poor little lions, would that I could hold each one of you and keep you safe. I'd shield you with my very body_. Jaime was not so well off. He had many bruises and cuts all over, and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

She was not happy to see that the judges for her trial were Robert Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, and Ned Stark. How was this a fair trial? She had considered trial by combat, but no one in the city she thought capable would stand for her, especially not against someone like the Knight of Flowers or Barristan the Bold, especially with her brother beshackled. She was seated by her brother, and Renly Baratheon rose and spoke loud, "Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, you two stand trial for committing vial acts of incest and adultery, such that you conceived three children and claimed them all the belong to the king, allowing the king to have no trueborn children, thereby also committing high treason against the King, his grace, Robert of House Baratheon, first of his name. You are also charged with conspiring to kill Jon Arryn, the former Hand of the King, Lord of Mount and Vale and Warden of the east, as well as attempting to kill Brandon Stark, son of the current Hand of the King and a boy of seven, twice. Do you say you are guilty or innocent?"

Jaime looked to Cersei, who spoke up first, "I say I am innocent, as you all well know."

Then Cersei looked to Jaime, who turned from her and said, "I say I am guilty, as you all well know."

An uproar of voice filled the throne room, and Cersei felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach with an iron first. She must be dreaming.

"SILENCE!" Robert roared. When quiet returned to the room, Robert looked at Jaime and spoke to him, "You are aware that in admitting to this, you forfeit a trial, and will be sent back to your cell presently to await your execution."

"I do not intend to sit here and watch all manner of my dignity be dragged through the dirt. I know I will be found guilty even if I sing to the high heavens and the Father himself descends and tells you otherwise. This will spare me more pain than necessary."

Robert bowed his head ever so slightly, "As you wish. Ser Arys, Ser Boros, Ser Meryn, return the Kingslayer to his cell."

In the whole time Jaime never looked at her once, he turned swiftly, and was led away by his former brothers-in-arms.

Ned Stark spoke to her this time, "Do you still wish to proclaim yourself innocent and suffer a trial?"

"I _am_ innocent."

"As you wish," Ned Stark said. And so the trial began.

As time progressed, Cersei began to regret having decided to go through with the trial. First Lord Stannis himself spoke of his findings, and what he told to Jon Arryn. Then, Lysa Arryn was brought to the stand, and with bitter tears told of how her beloved husband was in the best of health until the time he began to investigate the possibility of Cersei's infidelity. After her was Bran Stark, who admitted that he couldn't remember quite clearly what happened, but said that he remembered a woman's voice shouting, "He was us, he saw us!" and a golden man smiling and pushing him and saying, "The things I do for love."

There were angry mutters at that. The boy was so young, though he made sure to tell the court he'd reached his eighth year, which made him endearing to the court. They made sure to make it clear that he would never walk again, or run, or play with his brothers, or father children. Although, the boy said, "Tyrion Lannister did make me a saddle I can use for riding. So might be that I can become an archer."

After Bran Stark came what was like the main event. The parading of Robert's known bastards. Mya Stone from the Vale, a tall strapping woman with big blue eyes and black hair. Edric Storm, and handsome young man, with blue eyes and black hair. Bella Rivers, a buxom teenager with curly black hair and blue eyes. Gendry Waters, a well muscled blacksmith's apprentice from flea bottom who looked remarkably like Renly, with his black hair and blue eyes. And finally, a babe at her mother's breast. This was the best part, Cersei had to admit, the greatest stroke of genius. The mother was a skinny wench, with a mess of freckles, hazel eyes, and wheat colored hair. Yet her baby, Barra Waters, had the same blue eyes and black hair of the rest of her siblings.

After that farce, Renly asked her children to rise. "As the judges and the court can see, none of these three even remotely resemble a sibling of King Robert's natural children. Mhaegen here has a coloring similar to Cersei Lannister's, why is it that her daughter looks like all of her siblings but _not one_ of the king's trueborn children look like their supposed father?"

Cersei wanted to reach out and choke the life out of Renly Baratheon, but she folded her hands and listened as the whispering filled the room again, for she could not bear to look at her children as she had no explanation to give them.

There was little more to be said after that. Ned Stark looked at Cersei for the first time since the beginning of the trial, "Before sentencing is passed, do you have any words to say?"

Cersei thought for a few moments, she knew nothing she'd say could move Robert enough to spare her, not when he had that pretty little harlot ready and waiting. Still, she rose, taking a few steps toward the Iron Throne, Cersei Lannister kneeled before the king in a last act of desperation.

"Your grace, my Lords. I'll say naught of the accusations brought here against me, for I know that judgment had already been passed on this matter long before I was arrested," a few whispers resulted at that, and she saw Robert's face twist in anger, while both Stannis and Ned shifted uncomfortably, "If I must die, so be it, I have made my peace with the gods, and only they can pass a true judgment. However, regardless of whether you have judged me guilty or innocent in your minds, there is one thing I think you can all agree on beyond a doubt. Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella are innocent. They are children, whether you believe them to be yours or not, your grace, that is your prerogative. Name them bastards if you must, foster them as far away from you as possible if it must be, send our sons to the wall, or the citadel, or have them become Septons, send our daughter to become a Septa, or a Silent Sister. But I beg you, your grace, do not kill them."

Robert nodded ever so slightly, prompting Cersei to return to where she'd be standing. "Are the judges ready to pronounce the judgments on Cersei Lannister, for the aforementioned crimes?" Renly asked.

Stannis spoke first, "Guilty, on all charges."

Then spoke Ned Stark, "Guilty, on all charges."

Finally, it was the king, Robert leaned forward with disgust clear on his face, "Guilty, on all charges." He paused, letting the muttering die down, "Cersei Lannister, you are hereby stripped of all your titles as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Lady of Casterly Rock. You are to be removed to the maidenvault, where you will await your execution. In no more than a fortnight, you will be beheaded publicly. Do you have any last requests?"

"Only that my children be kept safe and not killed."

"Your children are now my wards, and it will be up to myself and my small council what to do with them. I will not risk tearing my country apart and starving my people through a war for abominations born of incest. Ser Barristan, take her away."

It _was_ less than a fortnight when they came to her. It was early, the sun had not quite risen. No one said anything, but when they came with a bucket for washing and a new grey shift, Cersei knew her time was near an end. Still, she could not quite believe she was about to die. Maggy the Frog had said that she would die with her little brother's hands wrapped around her throat. Tyrion was a kingdom away, safe at Casterly Rock. How could he possibly kill her? And Jaime…well, Jaime was dead.

A strange sort of calm had come over Cersei. For the past seven days, she'd seen death from the tiny steel-barred windows of the maidenvault overlooking the podium that had been built in the courtyard. Death and Death and Death. Robert wanted a show, and a show he gave. There was so much room to be had for all to see the executions, in the sight of the Great Sept and all the Gods. Cersei knew he knew she'd be able to watch, and she knew he wanted her to see. He couldn't kill her himself, or even hurt her physically, so he did the next best thing. First it had been Jaime, a week ago. He'd been dragged out by two of his former brothers. His wounds had healed a bit and she could see that face she knew so well. She wanted nothing more than to kiss his face, to kiss away the pain but all she could do was watch.

They brought him to his knees, but he never bowed his head. Golden, brilliant, proud, Jaime Lannister's nose was in the air, eyes staring at the silent peasants. He did not even wince when Ilyn Payne unsheathed his great broadsword and told him to lay his hand on the block. But the sword didn't strike true and Cersei knew this had been intentional. The broadsword struck Jaime's upper back first, and she heard her brother scream, a wail that chilled her bones. Then Payne struck again, closer to the neck this time, but not quite, and the sounds Jaime made were not human. Finally, on the third try the sword cut off his mangled head, and the dead thing rolled off to the ground, while the body wreathed on the podium.

Two days later, she heard that the Northmen left. The septas attending her had been whispering not quite softly enough. The king and Ned Stark had had a row. Stark had spoken treason, and Robert had told him to leave, or Robert would execute him as well. The next day, Stark, with all his Northmen, his daughters, his son, and his wife, rode off to the North. Stannis Baratheon also left, sailed off to Dragonstone, and Renly Baratheon had been named Hand. Cersei knew what this meant, even as the septas wondered why Ned and Stannis would leave.

On the following day, she saw her children be led to the podium. Cersei could not breathe, and even as the septas tried to drag her away from the window, begging her not to look, that no woman should have to see such a thing, no human, but Cersei could not help but watch. There they were, her glorious babes. Golden lions like their parents. Joffrey and Tommen were in hysterics, crying, screaming, begging, but the crowd was relentless. She saw hate in their faces, could not quite hear what was being said but knew regardless, abominations, stains on the realm. She could see someone say Good King Robert was being too merciful with beheadings. All this to two crying boys. But Myrcella never shed a tear. She kept her head raised and held onto her little brother, helped him get on his knees when they were so ordered. Cersei wept for her strong, perfect girl. This time it was quick, no one would abide a slow killing of children. Ser Ilyn struck true thrice and quick the moment each had walked to the block and laid down their heads, though faceless, Cersei felt even he was eager to get it over with. Death and Death and Death. After that, Cersei could not quite remember what happened. She'd heard wails and screaming, but the septas faces had been still, so she assumed it had been she who screamed.

Still, Cersei did not want to die. She wanted vengeance. She wanted to kill them, kill them all, and at night she fell asleep to thoughts of slaughtering Robert and Renly and Margaery.

After all, she could not die. If the rest of the parts of Maggy's prophecy had come true, why would the last not be so as well. Even as they led her outside, and she mounted the podium, Cersei believed somehow, salvation would arrive.

Even after four deaths, the crowd was still as blood thirsty as ever. They screamed their curses, through rotten food and filth at her. She kneeled, seeing Ser Ilyn ready to unsheathe his sword. _How is this happening? Where is the valonqar?_ Her breathing grew rapid, and a strange sort of clarity appeared in her mind. None of the other parts of the prophecy had been literal. If Cersei was to die because she loved Jaime, then certainly it was almost as if he himself had wrapped his hands around her neck and choked her life away.

At this Cersei broke down, sobs rising and chocking her. She could not answer Ser Ilyn when he asked if she had any last words.

The sword unsheathed, and strong hand laid her head and shoulders on the block.

Cersei thought of a sweet spring day, when she lay in Jaime's arms. Both of them young and free and innocent, laying in the grass as the bees buzzed busily and the sea kissed the shore of the west.

The last thing she felt was a white hot pain in her neck. Death and Death and Death and then nothing.

Blackness.


	8. Tyrion II

Tyrion II

He could not recall the last time he'd cried.

Had he cried for Tysha? He wondered a bit madly. He recalled a numbness coming over him and an ice growing in his chest, but he could not recall crying.

Still, there was no more sublime feeling, he could imagine, than numbness, in place of the tears he felt running down his cheeks.

He read one of the raven's letter again. _Dark wings, dark words,_ the fishwives said. He could not imagine words darker than these. Put in the nicest way possible, Jaime, _dead_ , Cersei, _dead,_ Joffrey, _dead,_ Myrcella, _dead,_ even little Tommen, _dead._

"Gods have mercy," he whispered, but to which gods, he didn't know.

He continued reading, pushing himself to deal with the remainder of the heinous report from the new Hand of the King. His father's host had been crushed by the forces of Highgarden and Storm's End, and Lord Tywin was in a black cell rotting, refusing to beg for mercy and bend the knee and swear fealty to the king. It claimed that no man would blame the king for having him executed, since how could Lord Tywin not have known of this treason all along. The letter ended with what could have been seen as a kindness, _"Your Lordship is invited to court. If you arrive within the fortnight, bend the knee of his grace, the King, and recognize your family's treason, you will be allowed to rule Casterly Rock, with all it's titles and incomes for the rest of your life, whereby it will be inherited by any legitimate issue of House Lannister."_

Renly could not really think Tyrion would swear fealty to Robert. It would only be a matter of time until they invented some new insult to have the rest of the Lannisters killed, or better yet they might detain him at court and make him a hostage. Neither of which seemed at all appealing to him. And then, there was the case of the second letter…

Carefully attached to first such that it almost seemed like it was one piece of parchment, and if Tyrion hadn't spent his entire life dealing with old books that tended to stick together, he would not have realized. But he'd peeled the pages apart to reveal the second letter. This one signed simply by _an Anonymous Well-Wisher_ , it contained a far more appealing plan.

" _I am sure as the sky is blue that you desire to have your revenge on those who ruined your family, and killed those innocent babes. But vengeance you cannot have while you remain on the continent. You are alone and friendless. However, across the narrow sea there are those who wish for the same things you do. Daenerys Targaryen has a host of 40,000 Dothraki screamers at her back, a great Khal's babe in her stomach, three nearly priceless dragon eggs and a desire to take back the seat of her father. While she has not forgotten the treason House Lannister committed against her family, she is wise enough to make alliances where needed, and can see that you were not involved in what happened to the rest Targaryens. Find a ship, take as much gold as you can carry, find the finest swords you can gather, and sail East to Pentos. Find the manse of Illyrio Mopatis, and he will have the freshest news of where to find the Dragon Queen. Do these things, help Daenerys reclaim her kingdom, and you will find yourself adequately avenged upon those who have done you wrong._

 _I remain,_

 _An Anonymous Well-Wisher."_

Tyrion did not know who this Anonymous Well-Wisher was, but he certainly had a better plan than bending the knee to Robert Baratheon. He still felt trepidation. What if this was a trap of some sort? What if Daenerys Targaryen was as mad as her father and decided to kill him? Well, she didn't have to be particularly mad to decide that sort of vengeance was required, one Lannister life might serve in place of others she could not take. And yet, it was the only option where he thought it possible – if even slightly – that he could end up living free and paying the debts he owed Robert and Renly Baratheon.

He leaned back in the great chair of his solar, much to big for a man so small. He'd made a joke to Derrek that the chair _dwarfed_ him, but the Lord Steward had not understood the joke, and has asked if Tyrion wanted a small chair.

 _Find a ship, take as much gold you can carry, and the finest swords you can gather._ The Lannister fleet had never regained its renown since the Greyjoys burnt it away nine years ago, but a ship Tyrion had. Gold he had as well, in abundance, luckily enough since he was at Casterly Rock. However, since his father had gone to the Crownlands, fine swords had been dreadfully scarce. Any knight worth his salt had ridden with Tywin, and the meager garrison left to Casterly Rock had barely anyone worth taking to Essos, nor did he believe any of them would have any trepidations in selling him out. He sighed, hopping off his chair and waddling to the great fire burning in the solar. Fall was in full swing, and lately he'd been feeling the cold more often than not in the evenings. He tossed both letters into the flames, and watched as the parchment cackled and blackened and burned, turning into naught but ash. Oddly, he found himself thinking of dragons. The Well-wisher's letter had mentioned dragon eggs. He wondered if Daenerys meant to hatch them, he wondered if they might grow like the ones that belonged to the original conquerors of Westeros, and he wondered if a fat man with a black matted beard would turn into ash after being consumed by dragon flame, or if people burned different than paper.

A knock at the door startled him out of his dark thoughts, "Yes?" he called wearily.

A skinny black haired boy with a stye under his left eye entered, "M-m-m-my lord?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm P-P-Podrick Payne. Ser C-C-Cedric Payne took care of me, but h-h-h-he left me here when he r-r-rode with L-lord Tywin."

Tyrion felt rather tired looking at the stumbletongue of a boy, "And what do you want, Podrick Payne?"

"D-Derrek says that a Lord C-castellan needs a squire. I s-squired somewhat for Ser Cedric."

Tyrion blinked, it took him a moment to remember Lord Castellan meant him. Likely, what Derrek meant was that he was tired of having a poor little boy wandering about with no direction, and decided to force him on Tyrion, "Ah, I see. Well I suppose I can't argue with Derrek, can I?"

Wide eyed, the boy opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tyrion raised a hand to the terrified boy, "You don't need to answer that, Podrick."

Podrick lowered his head, and said in a shy little voice, "Ser Cedric called me… Pod, if it please my Lord, you can call m-me Pod as well."

"Pod then."

"Derrek also w-wanted to know if you wanted dinner."

He hadn't eaten all day, but Tyrion didn't think the knot in his stomach would permit to do so now, "I do not. Thank you."

"W-will you be needing anything else tonight, my lord?"

 _A way out which doesn't involve me enslaved or decapitated would be a good start._ "I think I manage myself for this evening."

The boy made a little bow, "As you wish, m-my lord. Do I have leave to uh …leave?"

Tyrion felt the corner of his mouth twitch, and he wished he had the energy to laugh with or at the poor scared child, but all he said was, "Yes you do. Good night."

"Good n-night, my lord." He left as silently and quickly as he came.

The _Windswept Maid_ was a beautiful galley manned by some one hundred oars. Swift, slick, and small, it could carry Tyrion and his small company across the narrow sea faster than any of Robert or Stannis's fleet. Lowering the crimson and gold Lannister sails and raising plain white ones, it could easily be mistaken for a simple trading ship heading to Pentos. Tyrion remembered the days when he was young and had wanted nothing more but to sail as far away from his sister and father as possible with his uncle Gerion. And now, it seemed, Tyrion was getting that wish.

A few days ago, Tyrion had received the news that Tywin Lannister had mysteriously died in his black cell, from wounds sustained in battle it seemed, though the maester had done all that was in his power to save the Lion Lord, there was nothing that could be done. Ser Kevan had died as well, along with the King's own squires Tyrek and Lancel Lannister, executed for conspiring to kill the king with Cersei, as well as Willem and Martin who'd been slain in battle, and Stafford Lannister and his sons had befallen some misfortune it seemed. It was almost funny, with how much Tywin talked of family and legacy because more important than selfish interest, and how in one poorly considered march, Tywin had undone all he had worked so hard to build. Standing on the harbor, watching the lazy role of the sea, he felt lonely.

After loading as much gold onto the _Windswept Maid_ as possible, Tyrion, along with Pod, and Myrielle and Cerenna Lannister, as well as Joy Hill, boarded and set sail for Pentos to find the illustrious Magister Illyrio Mopatis. The girls were all orphans now, since Myrielle and Cerenna's mother had disappeared when news of her husband's death reached her, Tyrion couldn't decide if she'd thrown herself into the ocean or ran to swear fealty to the Iron Throne. If they stayed they would surely be killed, since they stood to inherit Casterly Rock, and though he had never borne Stafford Lannister particular love, the two girls were innocent and sweet children, and if Tyrion played his cards right, he could forge alliances by giving them to great houses as wives with handsome dowries. As for Joy Hill, she was not as valuable as the trueborn girls, but Gerion Lannister had been willing to take Tyrion across the narrow sea, and was always so kind to him. He owed a debt to his uncle, dead or alive, and keeping Joy alive and safe was the only way he could do that now. _So much for finest swords,_ he thought.

The trip over there was not pleasant. They'd had to stay below deck in their rooms for most of it, to avoid being seen. While Joy and Pod were both calm and quiet and wise beyond their years, Myrielle and Cerenna were more prone to boredom and fits of emotion. First, constantly sighing and shedding tears for their home and parents, then out of want for fresh air and sea sickness. To make things worse, Myrielle flowered right around when they were sailing past Dragonstone, and it took close to three hours for Joy to convince her that no, she wasn't dying and it only meant that she was now a woman and could bear children. Then, Cerenna began crying out of how unfair it was that Myrielle – only ten! – had flowered before her – who had recently turned eleven – and the two bickered constantly because Myrielle, though younger, was now a woman like Joy, but Cerenna was still a child, and the younger girl was wont to let her forget this fact. All of which is to say Tyrion was thankful when the captain determined it was safe for them to appear on the deck now deep in the narrow sea.

Out of a precaution, the three Lannisters and Hill had taken to dying their hair a mousy brown in order not to be spotted outright. The girls were delighted when Tyrion told them they ought to wash out the dye and dress in their house colors so Illyrio would believe they were Lannisters, though Tyrion had no such vanity regarding his hair.

When they arrived at Illyrio's manse, even Tyrion was taken aback by it's grandeur. They were ushered in by a fat eunuch guard to a high roofed room. On one of the silken loveseats sat one of the fattest men Tyrion had ever scene, which made him wonder if Pentoshi food was particularly good or if they simply ate more than most. He was stroking one of the prongs of a well oiled yellow forked beard, a gesture that instinctively made him cringe and want to tell the children to look away from. Tyrion knew this fat man must be Illyrio Mopatis so he bowed when he got close to the man. "Why, my lord of Lannister," the fat man said in the Common Tongue, though peppered with the Pentoshi roll of the r's, "what a pleasure it is to finally meet you," he smiled at Tyrion and the children, and gestured at the grand window at the back of the room, through which Tyrion could spy a slash of red bleeding through the clear blue sky, "Have you had a chance to see our comet yet?"

"A spectacular thing," Tyrion said.

"Indeed it is. It is heralding a new age."

"Is it?"

"The Age of the Return of the Dragon," Illyrio's smiled widened, "You look doubtful, my Lord."

"I can only imagine it'll be all the more difficult for Daenerys to conquer the Seven Kingdoms with this alliance between the Baratheons and Tyrells."

Illyrio's giggle reminded him of Varys the Spider's. "Oh, don't worry. It'll never last. At this very moment, the work the Tyrells did to secure peace for the country and prosperity for their house is being undone."

Tyrion looked at him uncertainly, "What do you mean?"

"Why don't you have a seat, my Lord Lannister? I'll call for Loryn, my maid, to settle the children in their rooms, and I can tell you all about our plans and how you fit into them."


	9. Margaery III

Margaery III

It was her wedding day.

And for the twelfth time in just as many days, Margaery woke with a scream, shakes and sweats wracking her body. The dreams would not subside. They were always the same. Three small blonde heads rolling off the podium. Not for the first time, Margaery wondered forlornly, _what have I done?_

She had known from the moment Renly told her of his scheme that "taking care" of the Lannister twins meant Robert would execute them. She hadn't really cared. There was so much evidence to show Cersei was guilty, and after Jaime _confessed_ , well, there was no doubt about it. However, she'd never thought Robert would kill three small children, ones that he had thought had been his own until a few weeks before. The thought brought more tears to her eyes, guilt wracked her body. Tommen was a kind pudgy little fellow who'd given her a flower during her first days at court and said he thought she was pretty, and Myrcella was a sweet little girl, despite Joffrey being distasteful, they were children.

When Robert had announced his will that the children be executed, Margaery had done the expected thing of kneeling before the throne and begging her king, for the love her bore her, to spare them. Cast them far away, send the boys to the wall and make the girl a ward to a house he trusted, perhaps Winterfell. Name them bastards and send them from court. She'd said all this, and had felt genuine tears of pity in her eyes. The Lords and Ladies of the court had eaten it up, and she'd genuinely believed he'd waver. Margaery could remember so clearly how her back had gone cold when he'd said, "As much as I would love to do as you wish, my lady, I cannot. Whatever children we have will always be questioned. The West will never stop pestering us for them, we will never find peace. This is the quickest and easiest way. Though your woman's heart tells you otherwise."

Margaery had blanched, but the whispers she heard were those of assent, it was practical, they were saying, wise. It was only nine years since the last war, no one wanted more fighting. It was probably better, who wanted to live as a bastard born of incest, it was mercy.

But as much as the venerable lords and ladies talked about how it was a kindness, they did not have three children's lives over their heads like she did.

Ned Stark and Stannis Baratheon had both left that very next day. They'd objected when he'd declared that it was his intent to execute them from the small council table, and he'd let them say all the things they did, calmly refuting all their arguments. It wasn't until Ned Stark mentioned the babies Aegon and Rhaenys that Robert's face had turned beat red, and he'd yelled that he was done with this folly, "the abominations will die and that's the end of it!" he'd roared.

Of those who left, Sansa Stark was the only one who'd said goodbye to her. The little girl had been crying much since her dear handsome Joff had fallen from grace. And when she came to see Margaery, her eyes were red and puffy.

Margaery had hugged the girl, "Oh Sansa, do not be sad. I know all you wanted was to be Joffrey's queen, but things being found out now rather than later saves you more heartache than you know." She'd held the girl at arm's length, "I know your father to be a wise man, he will find you a good husband, someone gentle and strong and smart and true. And being a queen won't matter one bit because you'll be happy and loved."

The little girl sniffed, "I'm sure you're right, my Lady."

They'd spoken a bit more after that, Margaery assuring her that once her father's and the king's tempers had settled she might visit court, or better yet Highgarden, though Margaery doubted it. Margaery had watched from her window in her apartments as the retinues left, one after the other. She did not think they would make war, the North was too remote and winter _was_ coming. Ned Stark was too good a lord to hurt his people, especially to fight a man he called brother. And Stannis was only Lord of Dragonstone, hardly powerful enough to be a threat. He knew the men's anger was because they, unlike Renly, had children, many of an age with the Lannister bastards, and they could not abide by such needless death.

But sad children and dead children were not thoughts suitable for her wedding day. Dawn was just showing her rosy fingers of light on the horizon, but Margaery would not go back to sleep. She rang for her handmaidens when the hour became decent, and Alla, Elinor, and Megga came scurrying in with excited whispers and titters.

Her wedding gown was a vision of ivory, embroidered with black pearls and green emeralds, with gold finish and a gorgeous veil of winter white myrish lace. It was exquisite and grossly expensive, but, as her grandmother had stated, her Lord Oaf father wanted Margaery to look so much like a queen when she walked through the Sept of Baelor that all in attendance would forget Cersei Lannister had ever existed. As if a pretty dress could make her forget all the death. But it didn't matter, the court had already moved on it seemed.

Alerie Hightower and Olenna Tyrell arrived some time later, when Margaery had been stuffed into her gown. She was so very tired, and did not at all feel like celebrating after such horrid things had happened. But Margaery was as good as any mummer, and smiled and played the happy maid for her mother and grandmother and cousins.

"You look beautiful, my dear," her mother said kissing her on the cheek, "They will write a thousand songs about your beauty on this day."

"They should two thousand, since that's how many gold dragons the damn dress cost," her grandmother retorted sourly. It made Margaery shudder when she imagined how many of the common people could have been fed with the cost of a dress she'd wear for a day. Her care for the poor had always been a peculiarity her family did not understand, but Margaery simply could never reconcile why she was well fed and well dressed and rich while others were poor and starving. She'd done nothing to earn this wealth but have the luck of being born a Tyrell. She decided when she was queen she'd start an effort to help the commoners in King's Landing.

Not that it would erase the fact that she'd killed three innocent children.

They wound up her hair in gorgeous coils, setting black peals and topazes and emeralds within the curls. At precisely ten minutes to noon, Lord Mace Tyrell arrived at her chambers, along with her three brothers, to walk the bridal party to the Sept of Baelor. Her brothers took their cousins on their arms, Alerie and Olenna walked flanked by Arryk and Erryk, and at the back was Margaery and her father.

Lord Mace could barely contain his joy, he talked with an almost girlish glee. It almost seemed to Margaery that it should be he who was getting married today and not her. The dread she felt was a fatherly one, she fancied. One of pragmatism. One that told her that these wrongs could not be righted. That the debts would be paid. She'd heard that Tyrion Lannister had managed to escape the Westerlands with three Lannister girls and lots of gold and sailed east to do gods know what there. Perhaps he might hire a faceless man or a sorrowful man to kill her and Robert, she thought, wouldn't that be justice? A pair of lovers for a pair of lovers. And Renly had mentioned something about a Targaryen girl alive and amassing a host of savages on the Dothraki sea…

She remembered what Cersei had said to her as they approached the Great Sept. _A Lannister's debts are always paid, even from beyond the grave._ She shuddered, and her father patted her arm, "Don't be nervous my girl. You were born for this."

Margaery smiled tightly, "It's natural to be nervous on your wedding day, father. Especially if you're marrying a king."

Her father laughed, "I should think it is, my dear."

All members of the court rose as her family made their procession to the front of the Sept. The jowly High Septon stood in his magnificent robes between the ornate statues of the Mother and Father. On one side stood the king, beneath the enormous statue of the father, in a rich silken shirt with a black jerkin, in his arms a heavy gold and black cloak. Robert had lost weight, it seemed, he was not so round as he'd been when she arrived at court. His blue eyes were clear, and his beard devoid of food crumbs. Still, his face had gained some years, more lined as it was, his forehead creased with the stress of the last few weeks. A step to the side of Robert was Renly, looking ever the beautiful, gallant nobleman, in rich greens and blacks and gold, with the same clear blue eyes and raven colored hair.

The ceremony was over quickly enough. Robert cloaked her, they said a few words, kissed, and it was done. Then they crowned her Queen. The High Septon let a splay of rainbow filter through a grand crystal fall on her face, singing prayers that long may she reign as Queen Margaery. It was all she had ever wanted, and now that she'd gotten it, yet Margaery felt only dread. She rose, and the crowd erupted in cheers, "Long live the Queen! Queen Margaery! Long live the Queen!" they cried as Robert led her out of the Sept.

Queen Margaery and her royal retinue were led back to the Red Keep for the celebrations. It was an obscenely, outrageously extravagant affair, with real dancing bears, a troupe of performing dwarves, acrobats, fools, singers, harpists, flutists and every other manner of entertainment she could imagine. The food was incredibly rich: pigeon pies, lamb, rices, stews, wines from the arbor and from across the narrow sea. Renly had certainly outdone himself, and all the guests were having the time of their lives she could see. She'd danced more than a few times, with her brothers, her cousins, her father, Renly, Robert, and many of the other men and women of the court. There were times during the day where she felt almost at ease.

Robert was only somewhat drunk by the evening, but he was determined to get very drunk it seemed to Margaery, as he picked up the pace of his drinking. He was taking a long drink from a cup of a delightful Arbor red when Margaery heard a stricken voice from beside her husband, " _I'm so sorry_ …"

Margaery's entire body turned cold. _No, please gods no!_ "Robert!" she screamed. The king threw down his cup, and turned to her wide eyed, he'd heard the man as well. She looked about the confusion of the wedding party, and she was a dark figure picking away toward a gate that would lead out of the courtyard to Flea Bottom. "Ser Arys, stop that man!" she cried. Robert had turned a horrifying shade of blue, "Someone find a maester!" she screamed. The king was trying to speak but only pathetic little squeaks came out. "Robert? Robert, my love, it'll be alright."

Renly ran over to her, his face terrified as well. "What happened?"

"A sorrowful man…oh Renly, do something!"

"WHERE'S THE MAESTER?" he yelled, "FIND SOMEONE TO SAVE YOUR KING!"

Robert's face had turned purple now, his head on the table. He took one more loud, heaving breath, and then he was still.

Margaery shook him, sobbing, "Robert! My love! Stand up, please, say something, do something, please, for me. You can't die, you mustn't die, not now, not like this. Please! I'm begging you." Finally, a Maester arrived, he waved her aside and grabbed Robert's wrist, stood silently for a few moments, and shook his head sadly. "The King is dead," he announced to the on looking crowd. A terrible murmur rose from the people of the court, many of them looking at her mistrustfully. She'd never known true fear in her life, and this horror filled her with a pain that winded her and drove her to her knees.

 _A Lannister's debts are always paid, even from beyond the grave._

Margaery fainted.


End file.
